


Dirty Traits

by xsilverdreamsx



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:25:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xsilverdreamsx/pseuds/xsilverdreamsx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which midorima obsesses over his neat and clean apartment and takao dirties it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Traits

**Author's Note:**

> future fic, i guess? also, porn with no redeeming, sensible plot. warning for shameless takao.

Midorima peers at the spot on the kitchen counter. He’s pretty sure he sees a smudge there, under the glow of the kitchen lamp, as if taunting at him for missing it earlier. With flourish, he sprays at the offending spot with the bottle of disinfectant he has in his hand, and wipes at it one one more time with a cloth.

Feeling satisfied, he takes a step back to survey the results of two hours of cleaning. It’s still early, he thinks, as he puts away the bottle and washes his hands, careful to keep the water from spraying all over the spotless countertop.

“Morning, Shin-chan,” a voice interrupts him just as he’s drying his hands. He turns to find Takao stumbling in through the door that leads from Midorima’s bedroom, his eyes still half-closed. He yawns, using the back of his hand to cover his mouth.

“Takao,” Midorima greets him curtly, eyeing the messy mop of hair on Takao’s head before taking in the oversized shirt that Takao is wearing. It’s Midorima’s shirt, and, in fact, the same shirt that he had ironed last night with the intention of wearing it to class today.

Midorima frowns slightly, and opens his mouth to chide Takao for carelessly wearing his shirt, when Takao steps closer to Midorima, lifting his head slightly for a morning kiss. The words fade away, unformed, and Midorima finds himself instinctively leaning down.

The mint aftertaste of toothpaste lingers on Midorima’s lips when Takao pulls away. For a brief, irrational moment, Midorima considers chasing the flavour, but Takao has shuffled past him, and rummages through the cabinets. He emerges, seconds later, with an empty mug, a packet of instant coffee, several packets of sugar and a spoon.

As Takao waits for his coffee to cool slightly, Midorima observes him again. The shirt is too large across the shoulders, too long in the arms. The length of it reaches the top of Takao’s knees. With his tousled hair, eyes wide open and looking at Midorima curiously, it sends an odd stirring through Midorima.

He’s appalled to discover that his own cock is beginning to take an interest as well, and he can’t quite stop his cheeks from heating up suddenly, flushed with embarrassment.

Takao, of course, doesn’t miss this. “You’re blushing,” he teases.

The heat spreads across Midorima’s face. “I am not,” he answers stiffly.

In response,Takao hums thoughtfully, taking a slow sip from his mug. He places the mug on the countertop behind him, next to the spoon he had used to stir his drink earlier, and turns back around to face Midorima. There’s a sly look on his face.

(Midorima recognizes that look; it’s the same kind that appears before Takao does something impulsive to push at Midorima’s buttons, to test his limits. Like fondling him in the middle of a moving train. Or giving him a blowjob in a park, in broad daylight behind the trees.)

Takao leans back against the edge of the kitchen countertop. He begins to undo the shirt buttons, starting from the top. “It’s a little warm in here, isn’t it, Shin-chan?” he asks casually, making a show of the heat.

He shifts his body a little, and his shirt collar falls open, revealing more bare skin. Suddenly Midorima is finding it hard to breath, and feels a bead of sweat trickling down his back as he watches Takao’s impromptu stripshow.

Takao’s eyes, in turn, are fixed on Midorima’s face. There’s a hawk-like, predatory glint in them.

Midorima tries for an unaffected tone of voice. “Probably the ventilation. I--” he clears his throat, which has turned dry, “I can turn up the air-conditioning.” He makes as if to leave the room when he catches sight of Takao’s eyes narrowing.

A spoon clatters onto the floor, where Takao has dropped it. “Oh,” Takao says, feigning surprise. “How clumsy of me.” It’s the same spoon that he had used earlier to stir his drink; drops of coffee still cling to the spoon, some splattered onto the floor.

“Takao--” Midorima’s words are caught in his throat as Takao leans over to pick up the spoon.

It’s deliberate, what Takao is doing - his body is bent over, almost doubled, as he reaches down for the dropped item. His shirt rides up, revealing his naked ass, pert and round and _perfect_ and Midorima sucks in his breath sharply, unable to stop himself.

Takao straightens up and turns around swiftly. “Hah, I knew it!” Takao crows in delight. “You _like_ seeing me in your clothes.” His eyes are too bright, shining with mischief. “You’re a little perverted, Shin-chan.”

“I-I am _not_ \--”

“Oh?” Before Midorima can stop him, Takao has taken a step closer, his fingertips brushing against Midorima’s erection which is straining in his pants. It’s a slight touch, but it’s enough. Midorima gasps. “I think you _are_ ,” Takao continues as he looks up at Midorima, his lips curled slightly, soft-looking and inviting.

Midorima’s resistance breaks.

Takao tastes of coffee and too much sugar; Midorima has always lectured him on his fondness for sweetening his drinks to the point of excessive, but right now it’s almost like a drug, and he wants nothing more. Almost greedily, he leans in and deepens their kiss, pressing Takao back against the edge of the kitchen counter.

Takao doesn’t resist, and returns his kiss and passion with equal fervor. It’s all tongues and clashing teeth at first, as Midorima’s hands fall instinctively onto Takao’s hips, tugging him closer. Their hips grind against each other, skin against cotton. The thought of Takao being practically naked while Midorima is still fully clothed and pinning him against the countertop shouldn’t make his cock twitch, but it does. For a brief moment, he wonders if Takao’s words are true, that Midorima is indeed perverted.

Planting one more brief kiss on his lips, Takao pushes him away slightly before turning around. With his back towards Midorima, he bends over, leaning against the edge of the countertop, using his arm to brace himself.

As Midorima watches, Takao slips a finger into himself. Without any lubrication, it must hurt, yet Takao doesn’t react painfully to it. Instead, he’s panting harder now, his hips trembling as he tries to reach for the spot inside, to spread himself wide open enough to receive Midorima.

It’s incredibly _obscene_ , and Midorima finds himself feeling even more turned on as he listens to Takao’s gasps. He opens his mouth.

“W-wait.” Takao pauses, his cheek still pressed against the table, waiting for Midorima to continue speaking. “Let me do it.”

His hand gently tugs Takao’s hand away, and before Takao can protest, he pushes his finger in. To his surprise, he finds no resistance, the finger sliding in easily. “Takao, did you prepare yourself earlier?”

Takao lets out a low chuckle, cut off by a gasp as Midorima adds a second finger. “ _Ah_ \-- Shin-chan -- I woke up -- and you weren’t there… and I -- _fuck yes right there_ \-- was so horny--”

“Who is the perverted one here, then?” Midorima asks quietly, pushing in deeper, the tips of his fingers stroking inside. He must have hit the right spot, because Takao’ hips shudder, and he lets out a loud sob.

“You planned all of this, didn’t you? How dirty, Takao,” Midorima continues to slide his fingers in and out, his other hand pressed against Takao’s back, keeping him pushed down against the countertop. “What if I hadn’t been home? What if I had gone out, to buy breakfast for us? Would you have waited?” Another thrust; Midorima twists his fingers, and Takao lets out another cry.

“Please, Midorima, I need you inside--”

Midorima wants to fuck him so badly, but there’s another thing missing. “The condom--”

Takao fumbles with the front pocket of the shirt, and tosses the packet to Midorima. He catches it with one hand, surprised. “I told you I was prepared,” Takao tells him smugly. “And really, _really_ horny.”

Midorima doesn’t bother to answer that. He swiftly pulls his fingers out, ignoring Takao’s whine of protest, and fumbles at the packet of condom, finally tearing it open.

“--or you could just fuck me bare,” Takao is saying, as Midorima slides the condom over his cock. “Come on, Shin-chan, you’re taking _forever_ \--”

His words are cut off abruptly when Midorima pushes his cock in, sinking in all the way to the base. “It isn’t safe without a condom,” Midorima lectures. Takao opens his mouth, probably to reply with a retort when Midorima pulls his cock out slightly and slams back in again.

“Okay -- _ahh_ \-- fuck, okay you win,” Takao pants out. “Just keep doing -- _Shin-chan, fuck, yes_ \-- keep doing that--” He loses coherence of his words as Midorima begins to fuck him harder. Each thrust is accompanied by a keening moan from Takao, who is gripping his own cock, fucking into his own hand as Midorima slams into him again.

Takao lets out one last sob, shuddering as he begins to come, clenching down on Midorima. It doesn’t take long for him to feel his own orgasm building, the way his balls tighten as he pounds into Takao one more time, and comes with Takao’s name on his lips.

*

Once Midorima has disposed of the condom, he turns around to find Takao leaning against the kitchen counter, looking loose-limbed and relaxed.

“Mmm, I could sleep some more after this,” Takao says, giving Midorima a soft, sleepy smile. The look warms Midorima’s chest for a moment, until he catches sight of an offending view.

With a frown, he reaches for the bottle of disinfectant he had put aside earlier, and a cleaning cloth.

“What’s this?” Takao asks, stares at the bottle in his hand.

“Cleaning.” Midorima says. He looks pointedly at the lower cabinets underneath the countertop. Takao follows his gaze, and grimaces at the stains left from their frenzied coupling earlier.

With a sigh, Takao reaches for the cloth.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, am playing in the sandbox, etc etc.


End file.
